


a warm place

by DeathWhisperedALullaby



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Fictional politics, Fluff and Angst, Romance, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathWhisperedALullaby/pseuds/DeathWhisperedALullaby
Summary: Winter and Robyn come together, slowly forging a bond stronger than any other.
Relationships: Robyn Hill/Winter Schnee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. chapter i. prologue

How long had it been?

Five years?

More? It certainly felt that way.

It had been so long since the two had seen each other.

They certainly heard of each other.

That seemed all too common.

Winter was always up there, right next to Ironwood, standing strongly and proudly.

It made Robyn sick.

She knew Winter.

She knew how patriotic she was.

She knew how much she cared about Atlas.

About how much she cared about the people in it.

She knew about how Winter wanted Atlas to be the strongest,  
best kingdom in the world.

She knew all about it.

And she also knew, this wasn't the way for Winter to make it that place.

Winter felt like she was doing a good thing.

She was helping her kingdom,  
and in turn,  
helping the world.

It made her happy.

It made her proud.

Robyn wanted to make her see what she was really doing.

Strengthening a fascist regime.

Winter was hurting Atlas.

Winter was hurting the Atlesians.

Winter was hurting Mantle.

Winter was on the other side.

_But just how far apart are they?_


	2. chapter ii. all will be revealed

→→→

  
  
The letter came late.

The white stamp alone was enough to put the  
entirety of the _Happy Huntresses_ on edge.

_An invitation,_

Thump.  
Thump.

  
Thump.  
Thump.

She's written letters that were sent in these envelopes.

She's stamped them with this top of the line white wax.

She's all too familiar with the strong smell of ink.

Winter knew exactly what it was the moment she received the letter.

_a sign of trouble,_

They weren't happy to receive it.

As often as they disagreed with the General,  
there was one reason why the worst man in the world  
would call into question the very nature of his power.

For more of his own.

_with no choice but to go,_

She didn't want to go back.

Ironwood knew that, of course.

He was just as shaken as she,  
after all, his vision could be   
torn down in one swing of the  
proverbial hammer.

He'd try his best to keep it light.

For both of them.

 _with nowhere to_ _hide,_

Blitzkrieg. A familiar tactic, for the _Huntresses_.

The SDC would do this often. Schedule an event,  
knowing that those invited would have to clear their  
plans and go within hours, or risk sacrificing  
political influence.

And it was all too effective.

_and only room to stand in front of the screen,_

Winter did her best to avoid _her,  
_ her old room mate,  
her old friend,  
her now-enemy,  
the opposite of her.

But, it was truly inevitable.

_to be watched by friend and foe,_

Robyn couldn't help but feel bad.

No matter how long it took her to learn of it,  
she did. And that meant, she knew how  
 _crushing_ this place must be for Winter.

But Winter held it together.

She was always good at that,  
  
and that always brought a sting to Robyn's heart.

_**all will be revealed.** _


	3. chapter iii. l'assassinat de l'homme (part a)

_The snow falls hard on the night of triumph._

Boots march through cold snow.

The air stung.

_So did the sight of the building._

_No deed goes unpaid._

This was no positive place to be.

No place for rebels.

No place for revolutionaries.

No place for free thought.

No place for freedom.

Ticking.

Downward.

She had enough of the slander.

Away. Fresh air — even in lieu   
of the mid—winters sting.

Though, was there ever a time  
when it wasn't present, in one  
way or another?

The double doors swing wide.

Freedom.

. . .As much freedom as one  
can have with the constant  
surveillance in the most  
isolated part of hell.  
  
Another set of doors — this one, seemingly, to a balcony.

_Crunch,  
crunch,  
crunch,  
crunch._

**"Winter."**

A beat.

_"Ms. Hill."_

An exaggerated puff. She should've known  
better than to think Winter Schnee of all  
people would want to call her by her first  
name.

" **Are you doing well?"**

_"_ _I'm doing fine."_

Silence.

Winter worked hard to avoid this moment.

Avoid the judgement.

Avoid the overbearing disappointment.

She couldn't take much more.

But one must be strong in the face of trouble,  
no?

**"Do you have a plan?"**

_"You're not here to talk politics with me."_

A grin.

She always was good at reading between the lines.

Winter wouldn't need to look at Robyn.

She already knew exactly how her face  
would read out.

Of course she would.

**"Do you know why we're here?"**

_"Do you know why a woman would step  
_ _onto a balcony during a meeting, Hill?"_

Her famous string.

**"Sorry."**

A beat. 

A tap.

Silence.  
  
  


_"Is that all?"_

**"Yes, ma'am."  
**

Away.

Away.

Away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! from now on, i'll be posting updates and the likes on twitter! https://twitter.com/OnlylnOurDreams
> 
> this includes updates, story concepts, polls, and if i ever take commissions twitter will be the first place to know
> 
> plus, it's the easiest place to interact with me!


	4. chapter iv. l'assassinat de l'homme (part b)

_The night was young, yet._

_The pseudo-war raged on._

_Feelings were torn._

_What are you to think when the worst man you can  
think of is trying to bring down your political rival?_

_It was clear. Personal hatred as well as harsh political  
and ethical disagreements put Winter firmly on one  
side._

**_But the night had barely begun._ **

* * *

Winter was truly shocked — and _proud.  
_

Her younger sister had won the war in one decisive offensive.

Just like Winter taught her.

Relief.

Jacques Schnee had his pride, power, and privilege  
practically torn from his chest.

_When you are on a fringe,_

_when you inevitably fall,_

_your supporters cry,_

_your enemies laugh,_

_and those on the fence_

_have landed firmly._

**But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet. But the night was young yet.**

* * *

_A blast!_

_A flash!_

_A thunderous echo!_

_Frontier justice,!_

_Mob action,!  
_

_Vigilantism, taken to an extreme,!_

_Firm, decisive!_

Her father was dead.

What a feeling — the dread alone  
repeated itself.

Why would she have any feelings  
of dread for her _tyrant_ of a father  
dying?

Did she _care_? She knew she  
shouldn't, but. . . 

Jacques Schnee was dead. In an instant.

Just as they nearly had seen the justice they  
longed for, their own brand of justice taken  
as far as it can stretch,

and they couldn't be happier. 


End file.
